


Can You Hear Me?

by ChaseAwayMyFears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaseAwayMyFears/pseuds/ChaseAwayMyFears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco and Harry keep crossing paths, what will become of them? Will they hex each other into next month, or will they kiss and make up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Hear Me?

He sat, looking out over the river, in his apartment, brooding. The sun was just starting to set, casting a deep orange glow over London. It was easy for the man to get lost in his thoughts, especially nowadays. He pulled himself from his mind-set, took a long pull of Fire-Whiskey and stood up, turning, with his back to the window. Sighing deeply, the man retreated into his dingy bedroom. He has no sense of time anymore; day and night didn't exist. It was all just a blur. He collapsed onto his bed after peeling of his shirt, and succumbed to his thoughts once more...  
'Get out! I don't want to see your pathetic figure darken my doorstep anymore! Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Just get out, Draco!' said the pug-faced woman. She hadn't got any prettier over the years.  
'Pansy, please, just-'  
'GET OUT!' she roared, picking up the duffel bag containing the blonds' possessions and throwing it out of the door, not caring if anything broke. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and closed it again. He met her steely gaze for a few seconds before giving her a curt nod, and walking out of the door into the drizzling night. He picked up his bag, which was damp from the rain, and threw it into the back of his car, the climbed in himself, slamming the door behind him. He sighed deeply, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. He looked out of the window at his former home, and then suddenly punched the steering wheel with a loud 'FUCK'. He buried his head in his hand, not knowing where to go or what to do.  
Draco rolled over onto his side, his white blond hair falling into his eyes. He sighed deeply, the images flashing through his mind. It had been 2 months since that miserable day, and he had had enough of moping around. It was time he forgot all about Pansy Parkinson, and get back out there. She didn't want to know, so why should he? And with that, he hoisted himself up and off of the bed, and traipsed into his small bathroom. Tonight would be the night he would find someone twenty times better than that pug-faced bitch. He smirked as he jumped into the shower.  
*  
Harry Potter, Boy Wonder, Saviour of the Wizarding World and Muggle World alike, was driving down a dark lane. He had driven all the way from a small town in Wales, and was heading back to Surrey. He had decided, that after the war, he would return to Little Whinging, because he had, over the years, developed a fondness for the village. Every other weekend, however, he would drive (he could Apparate – it was too far to fly - but he preferred driving) up to Wales to see his two best friends, Ron and Hermione. They had moved up to Wales to get away and to start afresh. Three years after the war, and Hermione and Ron were still very happy with each other, and were expecting their first child. They had spent the past few days celebrating with champagne –even Hermione allowed herself a single, small glass - and catching up on the past few weeks.  
After the war, Harry and Ginny had mutually decided that they wanted to be solely friends, and that they were. They were always writing to one another, discussing their days and what had happened to each of them. That's what he was going to do when he got home; he'd write to Ginny. He hadn't done so in a few days; he missed her cursive writing.  
When he pulled up into the driveway of his little house, he smiled. He'd never been one for large places, especially not living alone. He jumped out of the car, all the while wondering what to include in his letter.  
Half an hour later, the letter was sent, and Harry was sitting on the sofa drinking a mug of sweet, milky coffee. 'After this,' he thought, 'I'm going to bed. I'm beat.' He downed the last dregs of the beverage and headed up to his room. He had just got comfortable when he heard squawk and tapping at his window. He groaned, clambering out of bed, stumbling over to the window. He sighed, opening the window for a small brown owl to hop in. It stuck it's leg out to Harry, revealing the letter. He raised his eyebrows and sighed, untying it. He flipped it open and read the message inside.  
Harry, come out tonight with me and everyone? Meet us at the Three Broomstick at 9.  
-Seamus  
Harry sighed again, rubbing his face. There was no point in arguing with Seamus; he could be very persuasive. He groaned, heading for the shower.  
15 minutes later and he was freshly washed and had a clean t shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans on. He preferred Muggle clothes to robes – they were much more comfortable- but he pulled his robe over anyway; it was chilly outside. He rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes and apparated to Hogsmeade.  
*  
Half an hour later saw Draco with a fluffy green towel wrapped around his waist, his pale chest almost translucent in the harsh light of the bath room. He walked through to his room, pulled on some black boxers and black trousers, and a perfect white shirt, smoothing it out with his hands. 'Damn, I look hot,' he thought, and smirked again. He grabbed his wallet and Disapparated to Hogsmeade; he needed a good drink before going anywhere, and where better to go than his favourite pub, with half price discounts on his favourite whiskey?  
He landed a few meters away from the pub and steadied himself. Apparating was great, but he much preferred to fly. Tonight, however, he needed this drink. He inhaled the cool air, and frowned. There, by the entrance of The Three Broomsticks, was another man. But this was no ordinary man. Draco could've sworn it was... no, it couldn't have been. He chided himself for being so ludicrous, and walked into the pub. He looked around, a few people were dotted here and there, but he wasn't there. Draco grinned and walked over to the bar.  
'Ah, Draco, my dear,' Rosmerta remarked, 'How lovely to see you again!' She grinned and handed the blond 3 shots of Fire-Whiskey and a slice of lime.  
'Lovely to see you to, 'Merta.' he winked. 'Thanks.' he nodded towards the drinks and smiled. He downed them one after another as Rosmerta chuckled.  
'Anymore?' she offered. 'On the house,' she winked back.  
It was Draco's turn to chuckle. 'Well, if you're offering... And I'll have a pint of Butterbeer, too, please.' He was always polite to those he respected. Madam Rosmerta was one person out of very few who didn't judge Draco. She nodded, pulled the pint and the shot, and placed them in front of the blond, and went to serve another customer.  
Draco took the drinks to a small table in the corner of the pub, where he could see everything inside and out. He downed the shot, smiling as the heat travelled down his throat. He then downed half of the Butterbeer in one go. He was out now; why not make the most of it? He leaned back against the bench, a warm feeling from the alcohol spreading through his body. His thought returned to him immediately.  
The man at the bar wore nothing but a pair of black leather pants and a black bow-tie. He was fine, thought Draco. Draco had always known he wasn't pussy-loving – or, not entirely, at least -, and this just proved it. He sat down on one of the numerous sofas around the club, and tried to catch the man's eye. After about 5 minutes of nothing, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Sauntering over to the bloke, standing behind him, Draco whispered right in his ear, 'How much?'  
The man grinned. That smooth yet sharp, and very sexy voice was enough to get him a bit hot, and he was a professional. He turned around and was greeted by the most attractive man he had seen all night. His grin widened as he leant in just as close as Draco had done, and purred, 'For you, it's on the house,' and then nibbled on Draco's ear lobe – it's what anyone would've done -, receiving a sharp intake of breath, only audible over the pounding music because it was right in his ear. Draco's eyes fluttered, and his heart started to pick up its pace as he felt his knees weaken. 'Oh, you doll,' he drawled. The bloke stood up straight, that sexy grin still plastered on his face. Draco felt a blush creep up his neck, but tried to control it, to no avail. Malfoys do not blush. The man placed his hands on the blond's chest, and pushed him backwards towards the nearest sofa. He gave him a quick, firm push and Draco fell ungracefully onto the sofa as the man straddled Malfoy's lap. He then proceeded to run his hands up and down the shirt-covered chest, and growled in Draco's ear, 'This needs to come off.'  
Draco's mind reeled. He had never done this before. Not out in public, at least. Was he going to strip in the middle of a club? He gave a furtive look around and noticed he was probably the only one with a shirt on, so he growled and made to unbutton it. Sex-on-a-Stick, however, slapped Draco's hands away, winking. 'That's my job,' he whispered, his voice hoarse. Draco could feel his arousal, but he tried to fight it. The dark haired, bow-tie-clad man smirked, and in one fluid motion, ripped the shirt open, the buttons scattering. Draco gaped. 'That was my best-' He was cut off by a pair of lips crushing his own. He felt cool hands drag down his chest and tweak his nipples and, oh, it felt good. The hot mouth moved along his jaw, planting open mouthed kisses here and there until it reached his neck. The dark haired bloke grinned before nipping Draco's pulse-point, revelling in the sweet, breathy moan that was issued from the blond. Draco was finding it harder and harder to fight the erection; He was feeling so good. This man deserves a tip, he thought idly. No one had made him feel like this, not even Pansy. Oh, fuck. He'd forgotten about Pansy, his girlfriend, back from work, probably wondering where he'd gotten to. But at right this moment, he couldn't care less about Pansy. He was experiencing pure euphoria.  
Little did he know, Pansy had just walked into the club and had spotted Draco almost instantly. The worry she was feeling turned to white-hot anger as she watched a stranger in a bow-tie molest her Malfoy. Just as the music changed to a different tune, she heard a loud – very loud, louder than all the rest – moan come from where they were... seated? Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she stormed out of the Muggle club, Draco's lust-filled moan haunting her for the quick apparition and packing of his belongings. I never made him moan like that!, she thought, a little jealous, pouting, before her mind saw the bigger picture. That was it. That was the last straw. He's out. He's gone. I don't want anything to do with him and his cheating ways, she thought angrily.  
Draco's breathing became laboured as the sugar sweet devil continued his ministrations, now trailing kisses down his chest and over his nipples, a hand on his crotch, teasing through his trousers. As Draco dragged his nails down the tanned chest, he saw an owl – Pansy's owl, no less – from the corner of his eye; his heard leapt. He groaned, roughly pushing the man off of him, just as the letter fell into his lap. The man raised an eyebrow, not looking impressed. Draco ignored him. He read the message, feeling as though someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water over him.  
Where are you? Get home. Now.  
His stomach lurched. He glanced at the bloke, of who was now scowling at him, and threw a bag of Galleons at him, bolting out the club. He felt bad for leaving so suddenly. His arousal seemed to have been Vanished.  
He apparated home to find his bags packed and a very pissed soon-to-be-ex-by-the-look-of-things girlfriend standing next to them. 'What's going on?' he said, trying not to look too guilty.  
Pansy grimaced. 'Have fun with your little bitch, then?' Draco blushed a deep red. This has to stop happening, he thought. Malfoys do NOT blush.  
'Yes. FUCK. No. I mean, I don't know what... Bollocks.' he buried his face in his hands to hide his beet red face. This didn't help, however, as pictures of being straddled and having his neck bitten flashed before his eyes. There must be a hickey on his neck. There's no way there's not.  
'THAT'S IT! If you don't-'  
Draco was knocked from his thoughts when someone, somewhere smashed something. He blinked a few times, dazed, not remembering where he was. He was in The Three Broomsticks. He coughed awkwardly, trying to dispel the erotic thoughts. It was then that he felt eyes boring into him. When he looked up, his own eyes widened for only a fraction of a second before he stood up, facing his foe. The blond smirked his trademark smirk. 'So, Potter. It was you,'  
*  
Potter was carrying his empty glass back to the bar, swaying a little from the amount of alcohol he had already consumed. He always had a great time with Seamus and the others; he was glad he came.  
He stumbled around the corner, and stopped dead in his tracks. Sat a few meters away from him, with a look of bliss on his face - not a common expressions nowadays -, was the one and only Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't believe his eyes. His glass slipped from his hand and smashed upon impact, but he didn't notice; he was too busy staring at the usually too-tense, pompous asshole sat before him, obviously enjoying whatever was playing in his mind. When the glass crashed, Harry noticed Draco jump, obviously soaring back to the real world too fast. When Malfoy looked up, Harry noticed his face change from blissful to arrogant in a second. For some bizarre reason, Harry felt a pulse of disappointment overcome him. However, when he saw Malfoy stand and smirk at him, almost mocking him, he felt a familiar sense of hatred boil up inside.  
'So, Potter. It was you.' He could hear the mocking tones in the blond man's voice, and gritted his teeth.  
'What do you mean, 'it was me'?' Harry said. He still hadn't come to terms that, after 3 years of wondering what happened to Malfoy, he was stood not 3 meters in front of him.  
'I saw you coming in here.' Draco shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
'So you're stalking me now?' Harry raised an eyebrow. He saw Malfoy's jaw tighten and his hand twitch.  
'Malfoy's do not stalk. I was coming here for a drink, if you must know. You don't own the pub, Potter,' said Draco, his teeth still clenched.  
'Well, that's alright then.' It was Harry's turn to smirk. As he did so, he turned and walked back to Seamus, the smashed glass forgotten about.  
*  
Draco sat motionless – astounded -for a few seconds before brushing past Rosmerta, and hastily exiting the pub. Once a good few meters away from the pub, he leaned against a wall, and exhaled noisily. 'What was all that about? Who does he think he is? He may have the rest of the world licking his boots, but he'll be damned if he thinks I will.' he muttered. Much to Draco's astonishment, however, there was a tiny voice in the back of his head that said, 'You liked it. You liked seeing him again. You loved how he stood up to you. That's what you're looking for, Draco. He's what you're looking for.' Draco shuddered, his stomach clenching. 'No! He's nothing like what I'm looking for!' he shouted into the night. He received a few odd glances, but completely ignored them. 'I knew this night out would be a bad idea.' He growled, and then apparated home.  
When home, he found a new bottle of Fire-Whiskey, and chugged some of it, ignoring the fire streaming down his throat. He needed to get those thoughts about Potter out of his head. When half the bottle of Fire-Whiskey was coursing through Draco's veins, he stumbled up to bed. Maybe a good night's sleep was all he needed.  
But he was far from falling asleep. He kept tossing and turning restlessly. He couldn't get to sleep no matter how hard he tried. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the same images flash before his mind.  
'You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.' The 11 year old Draco stuck his hand out, leering at the bespectacled young boy that everyone was talking about. When Potter didn't take his hand and made the snide remark, Draco knew it was going to be a rough ride. 'I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you.' He regretted saying it as soon as the words had left his mouth. Sure, the Weasel King was a damn disgrace, gallivanting with Muggles and such, but he only wanted to be...friends...with Potter. But now he couldn't. He had to keep up the façade. He had to learn to hate The Boy Who Lived.  
Draco sat up with a start. It was then he realized...all the snide remarks and duels and digs were because he wanted Boy Wonder to notice him. He saw potential in Potter; he had never had any real friends; no one he could confide in. He saw that in Potter. He could get to know Potter.  
Get to know Potter...  
Why would I want to get to know a scrawny bastard like him? He thought, shaking his head, attempting once more to get to sleep. Sleep came easily this time, despite that voice in the back of his mind.  
*  
It was 3 days after the encounter with Malfoy, and Harry had almost forgotten all about it. It was 9pm and Harry was going out again, this time to a club in Croydon. He'd been told about it by Mr Weasley. Someone at the Ministry had told him about it, though god forbid how they knew about it – from what Harry had heard, it was rather risqué. Maybe for the same reason Harry was going tonight; to get out. Harry was to meet Seamus and the others outside the club at half 10, so he had an hour and a half to get ready.  
Before heading to the shower, Harry decided he'd reply to Ginny's letter. She had informed him that she thought Hermione and Ron were rushing into the pregnancy, and not to tell them she thought so. However, she was also very happy for them. She wrote that she missed Harry, and that they, Ron, and Hermione should go for a few drinks sometime soon.  
Dear Ginny,  
Of course I'm not going to tell them! It is all going rather quick, isn't it? But so long as they're happy, so should we be. Anyway, how about you? Have you found the perfect person?  
I miss you too, I miss everyone dearly. We should indeed meet up soon. Maybe in a couple of weeks, though. If I have any more alcohol in the next week, I might turn into a bottle of the stuff.  
Hope to see you soon,  
Harry [1]  
He smiled as he folded it up, secured it to Hedwig's [2] leg, and sent her off. It was short and sweet, but he didn't have all that much to say today. He looked at the clock; 9:45. It had taken him 45 minutes to write a short letter? Oh well, he still had plenty of time to get ready. He stood up and headed for the shower, all the while thinking that something strange was going to happen tonight. He just couldn't shake it.  
*  
Draco was sat at a bar surrounded by women with tape over their nipples and very little else, and men wearing leather pants and nothing else. There were sky dancers above his head, enchanted colored lights whizzing around and an endless flow of Muggle alcohol –he would've disapproved, but it did the job - but still Draco would not budge from his melancholy. He had resorted to a Muggle club – more alcohol, less people who knew him– nothing had an effect. He sat staring pensively into his glass, his thoughts from 3 days prior still haunting him. Get to know Harry Potter. Get to know your enemy. You crave his attention, Draco. You want his companionship. You need it. That insistent voice had not stopped racking his brain since he had conjured up the idea. He had lost sleep over it. His appetite was waning and he was lost in a world where everything was upside down and back to front. He took a swig of his whiskey and shuddered. It coursed down his throat, burning everything it touched. He relished in the pain; in his eyes, he deserved it. He deserved whatever came to him for thinking about Potter in any other way than an I-want-to-rip-your-throat-out kind of way. He sighed, struggling to block out the incessant clamour of the party-goers. He drained his glass, wincing slightly – whatever this whiskey was, it was strong shit – and headed for the rest room.  
The entire gang was there. Seamus and Dean, Neville and Luna, Lee Jordan, Zacharias Smith, Finch-Fletchley, the Patil twins, and a few of the other former DA members, as well as a few people Harry didn't recognize. After the 'Hello's and 'How are you?'s, they headed into the club. It was quite late, so it was pretty packed, with people dancing and grinding, and people laughing and shouting. They manoeuvred themselves to the bar and waited to be served. Most of the DA had kept in touch after leaving Hogwarts, and had made it a sort of tradition for them to meet up and go for a few drinks. Neville and Luna's relationship had sparked after the defeating of Voldemort, and they had been nigh on inseparable ever since. The Patil twins had become a part of the group after the first meet up; they had ditched their snobby double act and started being themselves. They were still very close as sisters, but they could look after themselves, too. Zach had grown up and apologized for being a bastard, and turned out to be quite a laugh, and Lee Jordan would always be accepted, though he only really came to the meet ups George was busy. Still, he was great to be around, and fit in well.  
'So, Harry, how's the missus?' winked Seamus. Harry raised an eyebrow.  
'Didn't know I had one, so you tell me,' he laughed, taking a swig of his drink. Everyone chuckled. It was easy to unwind with a pint in your hand and surrounded by a group of friends. It was easy to be yourself.  
'It's just you haven't had a shag – I mean a girlfriend – in such a long time! Anyone would think you're gay, mate!' Seamus chuckled, a little tipsy.  
Harry spluttered. 'I'm not gay! I just…I… Uh… I'm not gay.' He said feebly, taking a swig of his beer, averting his eyes. He couldn't be gay, he thought, adamant. His friends laughed.  
'Prove it then,' Lee had piped up, grinning.  
'P-prove it? How do you propose I do that?' He hadn't had enough to drink for dares.  
The group laughed as Lee made a point of looking around. Finally he said, 'Go and snog her.' He was pointing at a Barbie girl; overly made up – so much so she looked orange – and wearing nothing but a white strip of material to cover her fake breasts and a pink micro skirt. Her bleach blond hair was the cherry on top of a road kill cake. She was not a pretty sight, but, desperate to prove he wasn't gay, Harry waltzed over to her, tapped her on the shoulder and kissed her hard. It was a nasty experience; she'd obviously had some sort of magic enhancement on her lips, because they were solid. And it was like kissing a fucking octopus. The entire group laughed and whistled and clapped. Harry pulled away, wiping the lipstick from his face and winked – thought he was supressing a grimace - at the girl, walking back to the group. He slumped back on his stool and accepted the back-slaps graciously, taking a long pull of his alcohol. He laughed, standing up. 'I'll be back in a minute,' he muttered as he headed for the rest room.  
A minute later, Harry was checking himself out in the mirror, putting stray hairs back in place, to no avail, when someone came out of another stall. He looked in the mirror to see who it was, thinking nothing of it. He looked up again and he was flooded with shock. He span around, eyes wide, face pale.  
'So, we meet again, Potter,' snarled the blond haired man, all but 3 meters away. Harry swallowed his insults and snide remarks, turning to leave. 'Not even going to return my greeting? Never did have any manners, did you, Potter?'  
'Shut it, Malfoy.' Harry spat.  
Draco took a few steps forward, intending to be intimidating. Harry looked up at him, his face set in stone. Although Draco was only a couple of inches taller, Harry had to strain his neck to look him in the eyes because he was so close. Harry just stared at the blond, eyes boring into him with a mixed feeling of hate and regret. The hate he perfectly welcomed, expected, but the regret was a surprise. What does he regret? Why does he regret anything to do with this snake? He was finding it harder to stand in this close proximity with Draco. 'What do you want, Malfoy?' he whispered, his voice sounding more whiny than pissed off.  
*  
Malfoy smirked, looking down at the dark haired man.  
What do you want, Draco? You know what you want. You want what you've never had before. You want someone to have your back. You want- "I DON'T WANT HIM!' Draco screamed suddenly, scaring Harry, making him stumble back a few feet. Draco's hand flew forward, as if to grab Harry's wrist to stop him leaving. This surprised even the blond pariah, making his eyes widen momentarily before he stormed out, knocking someone over in his rush.  
How could he be so stupid to even consider that that whiny, four-eyed prick could mean something, anything, to him? Stupid. 'STUPID!' Draco burst out once more as he passed the former DA group; his enemies, people he's been taught to loathe. As he barged past the last throng of party-goers, his eye landed on a half empty bottle of Jack – a Muggle whiskey he had come accustomed to and had been drinking all night- and took it, downing half of it in two pulls. He was furious, with himself and Golden Boy. If only Snape were still alive; he could do with a good chat.  
Snape! That's it! He may've been a bastard but he's got to have a grave or a portrait somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts, and looking for it would take his mind off of Harry Potter.  
The next day he had sobered up enough to Apparate and was all ready and set to go. He didn't have anyone to leave behind, nothing to say goodbye to for the next day or two. So, after a quick swig of Fire whiskey, he stepped outside, locking the door behind him. He turned on the spot and disappeared into the morning fog.  
It was a hard find, and after a groggy 3 hour search of which a Malfoy would not usually put himself through, he found the grave [3]. There was probably a magical way – a much quicker and easier way – to have found it, but the long search had kept his thoughts at bay. He sat at the grave feeling dismal. He looked into the sky. Although it was around midday, the sky was still gray and the air was bitterly cold. He sighed looked back at the grave. It had been three years since the war, since the apparent burial of his mentor, but his gravestone was well looked after. It read:  
Severus Snape  
9 January, 1960 – 2 May, 1998  
Brave and loyal  
Never to be forgotten  
Again, Draco inhaled the icy air, not sure whether this was worth the trouble, when the voice in his head piped up.  
You're no Malfoy. You're a coward. You're not worth his time in life or death. You're worthless. Harry should've let you burn. Harry. Harry…  
'Harry…' he sighed, closing his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. The fact he'd called Harry by his given name didn't even register in his brain. 'I don't know what to do. He's the man I hate. He's always been the man I hated. Ever since that first day of Hogwarts, I've loathed him, because he chose that scrawny little ginger and the nerdy Mudblood over me, and I hated him for that. No, I hate him for that. But when I saw him the other day, and then again yesterday, I kept wondering what it would be like, to be his… his…his friend,' he spat the word, because he had never had friends before, never needed them. 'I want someone to be there for me. I want someone to tell me that I'm doing okay when my life is turning to shit, and to be able to look at me with an expression that isn't fear. I want someone to go out with, not sitting at a bar on my own, watching groups of friends having fun and laughing. I want… I want…' he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to no avail. He pounded the dirt with his fist, the first few tears escaping his eyes before he could stop them. All he wanted was to be accepted. His father was a disgrace, his mother had run away, his aunts were dead…no one wanted to know him. 'He doesn't want to know me. I need him to know me! I need him to care! No one else is capable. I don't want anyone else. I need him.' He sat there sobbing, feeling wretched, whilst the voice in his head muttered, 'be careful, Draco. Next you'll be confessing your love for him.'  
Draco sighed, sniffing. He couldn't believe he could be so weak, but he was thankful that no one was around. He stood up, looked at the grave, and smiled. 'Thanks for listening, I guess,' he whispered, turning on the spot and Apparating home.  
*  
Harry was sat in his bedroom at his desk, head in his hands. It had been a long week, and it had been a confusing week and Harry's head was pounding. His thoughts were a jumble of wires, impossible to untangle. He couldn't get Malfoy off his mind no matter how hard he tried. How he stood close enough to smell his cologne, to feel his breath on his hair, to see the specks of blue in his gray eyes. Harry swallowed, sighed and stood up. He just stood there, gazing out the window, not knowing what to do, how to feel. He hated Draco. Or did he? What did he feel for the blond man? The man he's fought with and argued with so many times. The man of whom everyone has warned him is a bad person. It was at that point that what he felt the previous day wasn't regret, or maybe it was, but there was something else; Something not so basic, hiding underneath the hatred. He didn't know what it was. He didn't want to know. He just knew it was there. He inhaled deeply.  
It was at this moment that he knew what he was going to do. He ran downstairs, grabbed his keys off of the side table, and went to his car. He was going to Wales.  
Half an hour down the road and Harry was smiling, The Fray's 'Over My Head' blasting out of the stereo. This was the great thing about driving. You could never cherish the feeling of speeding down the road, great music all around, losing yourself in the beat and concentration if you Apparated. It's over far too quickly, for starters. As he pressed his foot to the accelerator and watched the speed rise, another small smile played on his lips. Suddenly, someone was standing in the middle of the road, blond hair almost white in the headlights. He was just standing there, a small smile on his face. Harry slammed his foot on the brakes, eyes wide. He swerved and came to sudden stop in the middle of the road. He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his ears. He looked in his rear-view mirror; no body. He looked ahead of him; Nothing. He sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel, glad that it was too late for anyone else to be on the road. He knew he had seen someone, and he knew who he saw. But maybe it was a figment of his imagination… 'Oh, Merlin…' he sighed, kicking the car back into life, and driving to Ron's in silence.  
It was Monday morning. The morning after Harry had almost crashed his car because of his stupid brain. Harry had gotten to Ron and Hermione's in the early hours of the morning, amazed that they were still awake. They let him sleep in the guest room, on the condition that he explained why he had turned up unannounced, in the early hours of the beginning of the week. He could tell by the bright sunlight streaming in the open curtains that it was already early afternoon. Hermione had obviously come in to open the curtains, probably in an attempt to make Harry wake up, to no avail. Well, he was awake now, so he decided to head downstairs.  
Ron and Hermione lived in a small market town called Abergavenny, south east Wales. There were few witches and wizards here, and Harry had only been here twice before, when Harry had been on the night bus in his third and sixth years of Hogwarts, when Madam Marsh had been getting off. The house was quaint, with basic magnolia walls and thick, lush white carpeted rooms. There was a royal blue loveseat and a matching armchair, and a small television set – thought it was never used. There was a small coffee table in the middle of the lounge, donning three coffee cups, two empty, and one still steaming hot, obviously set out for Harry. There was no sign of Ron or Hermione. They must be in the kitchen, he thought, so that's where headed and sure enough, there they were, talking in hushed voices. When Harry walked in, they both stopped, looking up at him, smiling, guilt plastered all over their faces. 'A-afternoon, Harry!' Hermione piped up, her voice a little too happy to be genuine. 'Have a good sleep?'  
'Yeah, it was nice, thank you.' He smiled, his eyes narrowing a little. He knew they had been talking about him, but what had they been saying?  
'So mate, what you doing he- OW!' Ron exclaimed as Hermione stood on his foot.  
'Don't be so blunt, Ronald!' she scolded. She looked at Harry again, 'But Harry, what are you doing here? We weren't expecting you until this weekend, and you've never come up on a weekday! You're lucky today is our day off; it would be terribly rude to leave you here on your own. Whatever is the matter?' She reminded Harry so much of Molly Weasley, Ron's mom.  
Harry's face dropped, and he turned to leave, saying something about going to get dressed. 'I'll tell you tonight. I'll take you both out for dinner and I'll explain then, just… give me some time. I'll be upstairs if you need me!' he mumbled, fleeing the kitchen and running upstairs, locking himself in the guest room. He slumped down on the bed and sighed, closing his eyes. What was he going to say? 'So, yeah, I'm here because I've ran away from the man I hate because I'm developing feelings for him.' Yeah, that would go down well. He would have to think of something to say. But until then, he had to muster up conversation that wasn't awkward. He stood up and headed for the shower, still thinking of a way to explain his unannounced arrival.  
Half an hour later, Harry was showered, dried and dressed, and sitting in the royal blue armchair, coffee in hand, talking about Hermione and her pregnancy. 'So, how far gone are you? Uh, is that what they say?' said Harry, sheepishly, not knowing the first think about pregnancy.  
Hermione chuckled, 'About 14 weeks, now.' She patted her stomach, smiling. Harry smiled too though it was evident he had no idea what to say next. He looked up when Ron entered, laughing.  
'You've no idea, do you Harry? About pregnancy, I mean?' Harry shook his head. 'Don't worry mate, neither do I.' Ron winked. This made Harry feel a bit better about it. At least he wasn't the only one that was clueless. 'So, Harry, found your special someone yet?' Harry choked on his mouthful of coffee. A deep crimson crept up his neck and into his face as he fell over his words, 'I…uh…yeah….I …um…uh…No.' He gulped his coffee, which was still hot enough to burn, and spluttered. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, eyebrows raised.  
'Right, well then…' Hermione stood and walked into the kitchen, suppressing a giggle. Harry groaned inwardly, unable to look at Ron. Ron, on the other hand, couldn't help but stare at his best friend incredulously.  
'Harry, If – '  
'I said I'd explain tonight!' Harry snapped, storming out the front door, slamming it behind him. He had had enough. He didn't know why he even came here. He knew they would judge him, and he hadn't even said anything yet. He decided to drive around town and try to find a nice place for dinner tonight. He would have to make it up to them somehow; he was their guest, after all, and he wasn't being very hospitable at the moment. More like hostile.  
He had been driving around for about an hour – it took a while to even find the right part of town –when he found a small Italian restaurant. It wasn't too formal, but it wasn't a shit hole, either. It was cute. It was – obviously -a Muggle place, but that didn't really matter.  
Harry was sure Hermione had bought Ron a decent tuxedo, not the shabby dress robes from their 4th year. Just the memory made him smile. But as soon as the smile appeared, a disappeared, a frown taking its place; he still didn't know what he was going to say. He looked at the time; 04:00; Plenty of time to get back to the house; to tell Ron and Hermione where they were going, and to think of what to tell them. What if they hated him? What if they laughed? He didn't know what was worse. He swallowed his worries and headed back.  
Three and a half hours later saw Harry, Ron and Hermione sat around a small round table in a tucked away booth in the restaurant. Before them were their pasta and spaghetti and wine – even Hermione was indulging in a single glass. Everyone was on edge, despite the lovely atmosphere of the restaurant. Ron and Hermione kept exchanging glances and Harry just shifted his food around his plate. Each time he opened his mouth to say something, words evaded him.  
After about 10 minutes of awkward small talk, Ron jumped in; ''C'mon, mate. You've got us worried sick. What's going on?' He took a sip of his wine and grimaced. Ron was never one for alcohol, but he thought he'd take advantage of Harry's money for once in his life.  
Harry looked up from his plate, his face gradually turning pink. He inhaled deeply, relishing in the wonderful smells of Italy for a moment, before exhaling, and mumbling, 'I have something to say.' He swallowed, waited a few seconds, and then told them everything from Harry harmlessly wondering what happened to Malfoy, to meeting him in the Three Broomsticks, to their run-in at the club. He explained his complicated feelings, hallucinating Malfoy in the road up to Wales…;everything. When he was finished, he sat there, looking from Ron to Hermione, gauging their reactions. After a few moments, Ron simply said, 'Bloody hell.'  
Harry couldn't help it; he burst into tears. Since the war, his emotions had been getting the best of him a lot more frequently. Hermione automatically jumped out of her seat and put her arm around his shoulders. From this simple act, Harry deduced she would make a wonderful mother.  
He looked at Ron, sniffing. He couldn't say anything. The shock was clear on his face.  
'Harry…'  
'Don't worry,' the black haired man croaked. 'I'll go.'  
'No, Harry, I didn't mean-'  
'No, I need to. I only came to get away. I mean, of course, I wanted to see you, too, but y'know… I needed to get it all off of my chest.' He smiled weakly, sniffing, swallowing the lump in his throat. 'So thank you.'  
'We understand. So, what are you going to do now?' Hermione chipped in, shooting daggers at Ron.  
Harry shook his head. 'I have no idea. I suppose I'll just go home and forget it. If we run in again, I might have to say something to him, but… Oh, I don't know!' He put his head in his hands.  
'Well,' Ron said, standing up from the table, 'I'm sufficiently stuffed.' Always the joker.  
'Well, there's a first.' Harry said, laughing a little. He stood up, too, along with Hermione. They paid the bill and then left for home to sleep, before saying goodbye to Harry in the morning.  
*  
Draco was sat in the Three Broomsticks, an entire bottle of Fire Whiskey to himself, in a state of pure melancholy. It was a Thursday night; he hadn't seen Potter for four days. He didn't know whether it was a blessing or a curse. Over the past few days, he had thought a lot about the four-eyed, smart-assed, amazingly arrogant man. He had deduced that whenever he even thought about him, his heart rate would quicken, and thoughts he never would've expected to arise when thinking about Potter, seemed to arise. He was a mess. No Malfoy would act so weak, no Malfoy would… develop feelings… for his supposed enemy. Malfoys and Potters did not go together. But the images that his mind conjured sent shivers down his spine; everything was moving too fast. He knew he needed Potter. But how did he need him? As an ally? As a friend? As something more?  
He composed himself, downing the last dregs of his whiskey, and apparated home. He had no time for this. He had better things to do than think about Potter. Or so he told himself.  
There was a knock on the door. It was 07:00 the next morning. Draco would've ignored it, except whoever was there was literally hammering on the door. All Draco had on was a pair of bottle green sweat pants on. He didn't care. It couldn't be any one important at his door; he didn't know anyone important. He stumbled to the door, his eyes still thick with sleep, and his head still foggy from his dreams. His throat was dry and he was annoyed at being woken up at such an ungodly time of day.  
As he opened the door, someone punched him in the gut. Or, it felt like someone had. There, stood in his door, with his silly little messy hair and stupid glasses and ridiculous Muggle clothes, was none other than, 'Potter,' Draco spat, as much venom in his voice as he could muster. Nonetheless, however hard he tried to suppress it, a pink hue took to his cheeks, because no more than 5 minutes ago, he was crying Potter's name. He must've been, his throat was sore with shouting, and Potter had been the main event in his wet dreams all night. It was embarrassing.  
If Malfoy's pulse quickened when he merely thought of Potter, it had turned into some sort of jack hammer now. He tried, to no avail, to swallow the lump in his throat, to wake up, determined this was a nightmare.  
'Malfoy…' No one could miss the way Harry's voice cracked.  
'What the hell do you want?' Draco snarled, his eyes glowing. He didn't bother letting the dark haired man in, he didn't want him in his house. There's nothing you want more.  
Draco just stared at Harry, waiting. Harry watched Draco watching him, holding his gaze with a fierce grip.  
'What do you want?' Draco repeated more slowly this time, the venom behind his words almost tangible –he was good at masking his true emotions. He watched as Harry's face flushed, and watched his eyes dilate before flying to the floor. He watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. Harry mumbled something incoherently before turning on his heel and running.  
Draco's eyes widened in shock and a sound of pain escaped his lips. He tried to slow his heart, tried to make his legs work to run after him; Tried to make his brain forget all about The Chosen One. He watched Harry's retreating back, his face taking on a crestfallen look. The devil on his shoulder jumped at the rejection; you missed your chance! You should of taken advantage of the fact that he was here; he'll never come back. He'll never want you! He wasn't blushing because of you; it's cold outside. The sight of you shirtless disgusted him. His eyes didn't dilate for you; it was a trick of the light. He'll never be yours – never be your friend, never be your anything. He loathes you. Why would someone like you deserve someone like him? He's a hero, you're a coward. You have no courage. You're worthless. You lost your chance.  
Draco's vision swam with tears, so he went back inside, slamming the door. He picked up the nearest thing – a photo from his Slytherin days – and threw it at the wall, shouting and screaming, though not crying. He was livid with himself. He shouldn't've been so cocky, should've let him inside, should've told him everything. He would not let him go. Not this time. He had to talk to him. It had only been a couple of minutes, perhaps Harry hadn't Disapparated. Perhaps he was stood throwing up in a hedge because Draco had disgusted him so. Perhaps he was somewhere not too far away.  
Draco pulled on one of the few t-shirts he owned, and ran out the house, sprinting down the lane. He didn't care he was acting so out of character, he didn't care he was bare foot, he didn't care about anything. All he cared about was talking to Potter; it was ridiculous behaviour of someone of his standard. But standards were slipping.  
He scoured the lane, finally seeing the back of a head of dark hair, a body wrapped up in a dark winter coat and a Gryffindor scarf. It was definitely Harry. Draco stopped for a few seconds, watching him, waiting for his breath to return. He didn't want Potter to know he had chased after him; he had a small part of his dignity – and arrogance - left. His breath returned, but his heart was still pounding ten-to-the-dozen. He inhaled deeply and composed himself. His heart wouldn't stop pounding and he was starting to shake, but nonetheless he approached Harry with the cool, hard exterior that he always wore.  
'Potter, I asked you what you wanted.'  
Harry span round, facing Draco, his eyes puffy, tear streaks down his cheeks. He looked vulnerable and tragic, and it made Draco's heart break. He held his glasses in his hand and he was shaking – not from the cold. He surveyed Draco, his green sweats and his black shirt and his shoe-less feet, and assumed that his face was red and he was shaking because of the cold.  
Draco couldn't keep his façade up for much longer; the sight of Harry breaking in front of him was enough to snap him. 'Potter, I-' he reprimanded himself for using Harry's surname. 'Harry,' he started again, he voice soft, not Malfoy-like at all, but if being a Malfoy meant being emotionless and cold, he wanted no more of it. He had had enough of aggravating Harry; he had had enough of trying to ignore his feelings. He walked over to where Harry sat on a rock, and stood before him, his face a picture of agony. 'Harry, I… I…' Finally the tears started falling. He placed his left hand on Harry's cheek, and looked into those bottomless green eyes. He swallowed the golf ball in his throat, and brushed his lips against Harry's, his tears rolling down Harry's face. Harry didn't respond, so he kissed him again, still feather-light. It was beautiful, and it was tragic, and Draco poured all of his feelings into that one fleeting kiss.  
Harry closed his eyes before he knew what he was doing, and kissed back for a second or two, before he came to his senses and he put his hands on Draco's chest and pushed him away. Draco's heart shattered, but he didn't miss the twinkle in Harry's eyes, nor did he miss the hitch in his breath.. Draco stepped away, looking like a kicked puppy – something he never imagined himself looking like; he hated dogs –but held Harry's gaze. Both their hearts were pounding. 'Draco, I… I can't!' Tears started leaking from his eyes again. 'Not yet. I'm sorry!' Just before Draco stepped forward to stop him from running again, he Disappparated away, leaving Draco alone, stood at the edge of the lane.  
The blond's knees crumpled and he fell to the floor. His body was racked with sobs. He couldn't think straight. He knew he would never see Harry again, but he could hold on to the twinkle in his eye and the way -even for a split second – he kissed back, and the way he said 'Not yet'. Not yet. There was still a chance.  
Draco hadn't meant to caress his cheek – just like he had no intention of crying, much less kiss him, but it felt right.  
*  
Harry was still in shock and still shaking when he got home. He could still feel the slight pressure of Draco's lips upon his, still smell his musky, earthy scent; still feel the touch of his rough hand on his cheek. He was a fool to push Draco away after all this time of wondering. He was sure he had ruined his chances, but he was so overcome with shock that he didn't know what he was doing until it was too late. He couldn't show his face ever again.  
Once he had calmed down a bit, he thought things through.  
Harry had, ever since the end of the war, been curious about the youngest Malfoy. He had wondered what it would've been like if he had taken his hand on that train, if he had accepted his friendship. When Harry had really started thinking about Draco, especially after their first run-in at the Three Broomsticks, he began to think more and more about the blond. After their second encounter, when they were standing all but an inch apart, Harry began to notice things about himself that he hadn't notice before; the way his heart quickened, the way his eyelids fluttered ever so slightly as Draco's warm, sweet breath bathed Harry's face, the way he started to question himself. He knew for a fact that he wasn't going through a phase, but what did Draco mean to him? That kiss this morning; Harry so dearly wanted it to mean something, but how on earth could Draco stand to be near him? Harry convinced himself that no matter what his heart told him, there would never be a future between him and Malfoy. But he yearned for a something strong enough to take his breath away. He wanted to feel wanted again. He hadn't had something like that since Ginny.  
He sighed; what was he going to do? He had to do something. He could either forget – which, in Harry's eyes, was not an option – or go to Draco and hope he'll forgive him; maybe, if Harry had done too much damage, they could be friends… Harry stood, his head pounding from crying. Merlin, how had he become so weak? He was a hero, a saviour, fucking pathetic.  
*  
Draco Malfoy was an alcoholic.  
Well, he may as well be, considering the amount he had drank in the last few hours. He had more alcohol than blood in his body. He was drinking to forget, and if he became comatose, all the better. He couldn't see straight; he couldn't think straight. He was a mess – he felt perfect. His heart felt as though it were breaking and his was stomach churning and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't erase those green eyes from his head. They haunted him whenever he closed his own eyes.  
He stood up, stumbled, and caught himself on a table. His hands were bloodied from his rage; he'd smashed a mirror or two – he deserves the bad luck. He couldn't stand to look at himself. He didn't know what was happening. He felt like a fucking Muggle, what with al the feelings and rage and feeling so out of control.  
Suddenly, he had a thought. 'Is this how Pansy felt at the club? Did she feel her heart shatter when she realized I didn't want her? Did she feel as hopeless as I do now? Could she breathe? I'm not sorry what I did to her. I was with her for convenience; I didn't love her. I realize that now. She didn't satisfy me; no woman satisfied me. But maybe she loved me… I didn't know she had a heart, but maybe she did. She didn't act like it half the time, but she's a Slytherin, too; she can mask her feelings as well as I can. Maybe she felt like I do. I don't feel bad for her – it's not like she's a saint, either.' Draco smirked, imagining Pansy in the same state he's in now.  
He sat thinking for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a half hour at most.  
He looked around slowly, trying not to make his head split in half, and spotted a large, snowy owl sat in his window. This sobered Draco up like a cold shower. He leapt up and groaned, not knowing whether to clutch his head or his stomach. Breathing deeply, he stumbled over to the owl, taking the letter. It was a heavy envelope embellished and sealed with a crimson wax imprinted with a large 'P'. Draco swallowed, his heat faltering, wincing as everything pounded, and turned the letter over, reading the address. It simply read;  
Malfoy  
Spinner's End  
'Malfoy,' he whispered with a small laugh; Potter never did have any manners, he thought. He stared at the letter for a few seconds, holding his breath, and then he tore it open.  
He scanned through it, expecting an essay-length letter considering the weight, but only found a few lines. Draco felt his throat contract. He didn't feel drunk anymore; he felt perfectly sober and alert. He read it through again, more slowly, lingering on each word, not knowing whether to be angry or ecstatic…  
Malfoy,  
I'm so sorry about this morning, you just shocked me. I wish I hadn'tWe need to sort this out. I can't stop thinking ab Would you meet me in the Hog's Head tomorrow night at 6pm?  
Please come.  
Harry.  
Draco looked up at the owl, face flushed with anger, and frowned. 'What is this?' He demanded. 'Oh, what am I doing? You're a fucking owl! Fine! Wait.' He shouted, grabbing a piece of parchment and scribbled a reply.  
Potter,  
If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't have run away. You must've come for a reason, you're just too cowardly. We don't have anything to sort. You pushed me away. I lov I hate you.  
D. Malfoy.  
PS. You broke my I have a name, you know.  
'Here, take this.' He tied the note to Hedwig's leg and sent her on her way.  
The blond was shaking with anger. He knew it was mainly the alcohol, amplifying his mood, be he couldn't help feeling so… used… He's trying to apologize. He wants to see you. Can you deny him that? Can you deny yourself that? You know how much you need him. He's the only one that can rip you from this melancholy. You know how he makes you feel. Another chance is what you need. You don't deserve it, but you need it. You need to see him; you need this. You can't drown your problems for the rest of your life. You could finally be happy. He could make you happy.  
Draco groaned, clutching his head. He wished the thoughts would stop. He wished he could wipe his memories. He needed an escape. He needed sleep. He crawled to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.  
*  
Harry's life had changed dramatically in the past 3 weeks. He went from being a great inspiration – a hero – to a complete mess. He had gone from girls tripping over themselves for him, to fawning over Draco Malfoy, of all people. He was unworthy of being a saviour of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike; how could he help other people anymore if he couldn't even help himself? It was pathetic. He should've let Voldemort kill him. At least he'd be with his family again.  
He sighed. Family; something he'd never have for himself. Even if the impossible were made possible, and he wound up with Malfoy, they couldn't have a family. Not biologically, at the very least. They could adopt, but how likely is it that Draco would even want a little one, running around the house, messing up his perfectly placed hair, scratching his pale, flawless skin; a small baby, creating bags under Malfoy's glittering eyes, keeping him away at night; a small child, making his alcohol clouded brain ache with homework, having to deal with detentions and bullying and broken wands and broken bones? How could he cope with a teenager, having to deal with broken hearts and boy-or girlfriends? How would he deal with an adult, having to help with move-outs and more broken hearts? Or marriage? Or pregnancy?  
How would Draco Malfoy deal with watching his elderly son or daughter grow old and ill, and watching them die, be it from out living them, or from the Other Side.  
It's simple; he wouldn't.  
Or maybe he would, but it'll never happen, not with me, at least. I ruined the chances of that ever happening, Harry thought to himself, full of self-loathing.  
It was 06:30 in the evening of the next day, and Harry was sat alone at a small table in the corner of the pub. He was staring into his Butterbeer, disappointed. Deep down, he knew Draco wouldn't show, especially when he received his letter. Suddenly, the door opened and the bell chimed. Harry's head snapped up, his eyes trained on the door, but to his utmost disappointment, it was just a regular; an old witch. Harry just sat there, crestfallen and hopeless; I knew there was no chance. I shouldn't've bothered. Why would he come anyway? His letter said it all – he didn't want to know, harry thought to himself, finishing his Butterbeer and standing up. He took one last look around before Disapparating.  
*  
Draco was back to square one, staring out of the old window, bottle of whiskey in hand. He hated himself for not meeting Harry, but he couldn't face it; his mask would've slipped and everyone would've seen just how weak and vulnerable he had become.  
Draco had no family to pick him up, to keep him stable – his mentor was dead, his family had been torn apart. He'd left Pansy he had – never really had – any friends. He was, in reality, alone, and he hated it. He was in no way dependant on anyone or anything but men have their needs.  
He sighed, taking a swig of his whiskey. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had changed at all. He was still alone, still miserable, still turning to the bottle every time something went wrong. He was alone because of rejection, he was miserable because he had opened himself up and been pushed away, beat to the floor and left for dead – or so it felt like he had been. He'd been given mixed signals and dropped been dropped like a stone. And he was still turning to the bottle because it burned his throat and drowned his sorrows. He was – and always had been – a hopeless case, destined to never be happy, to never feel accepted, to live a lost life, always complaining, always being dropped, never being trusted. That's the problem with siding with the antagonist; you develop a bad reputation and it's hard to destroy once you've become infamous.  
So the blond just say there, moping, becoming more drunk, and feeling more pathetic.  
*  
The days flew past in a hazy blur. Both Harry and Draco lost themselves in their thoughts and closed themselves off from the world. They drank themselves into oblivion and hated everything and everyone.  
*  
It was April fourth – a month after Harry had been stood up. A month after Draco had chickened out. Draco was walking down the Alley, head down. He had no idea why he was here. People were looking shifty when they saw him, but he ignored them all. He supposed he just needed to get out, have some fresh air. But he wasn't sure.  
As he walked past a small side alley, he was knocked backwards, almost falling on his ass. 'Hey! What the fuck? Watch where you're fucking going!' Draco looked up, his face filled with fury. He heard the mutterings of 'I'm so sorry' and 'I'll look where I'm going' but they sounded distant, under water, almost. He knew the person standing in front of him, mumbling. He knew the scraggly black hair and the skinny frame and the round glasses, but most of all, he knew those big, deep green eyes. His heart lurched and he felt physically pained.  
He flew to his feet, grabbed Potter's wrist roughly, dragging him into the alley. It was cold and damp, but empty. He pushed Harry up against the wall, hurt and anger and desperation clear on his face. 'Why did you run?' he whispered, his face twisting, tears forming. 'What are you trying to do to me?'  
Harry's jaw fell open. 'What am I trying to do to you? You yell at me one week and the next you're kissing me. Who are you? I… I think,' Harry tried to compose himself. 'I think that you're… well, you're not a bad person. You're not! You're just…' Harry couldn't think straight. Draco was so close. All Harry wanted to do was wrap his arms around himself and allow the earth to swallow him whole.  
Draco sighed. He raised his brows, staring pointedly at the dark haired man. 'I'm what…?'  
Harry blinked. 'I just want to know who you are.' He said feebly.  
'What?'  
'I want to know who you really are!' Harry said, exasperated, a look of almost desperation on his face. Why could no one but him see potential in this man?  
'You want to know who I am?' Draco glared at the man before him – the man with the suave disposition now that Lord Voldemort was gone. He spoke through gritted teeth. 'You really want to know?'  
Harry stood, walked over to the blond, placed a hand on his shoulder – ignoring the flinch – and looked him square in the eye. 'Yes, Mal- Draco, I do.' Draco swallowed at the sound of his given name. It rolled off Potter's tongue perfectly, and that's why he hated it so much. He shook his head, almost imperceptible, turning, and walking back towards the Alley. 'Malfoy. Malfoy! Oh, for fuck's sake. DRACO!' Harry called, almost begging.  
Draco stopped short, his heart skipping. Hearing that desperation in Potter's voice, could he really leave? The raven haired man was on the edge of being on his knees, a kicked-puppy expression on his stupidly perfect face. Draco mental kicked himself when he realized what he'd thought – Potter is far from prefect. He heard a faint 'please' – almost a whisper. It could have belonged to the wind. And he felt a hand upon his back; he supressed the shiver that was threatening to shoot down his spine. 'Potter…' he said, trying to be threatening, but it sounded more like a whimper, and was an octave too high. He cleared his throat and tried again; 'Why would I tell you anything about me? Give me one good reason, Potter, and I'll spill my guts. I won't leave anything out. You can hear all the gory details of how I turned out to be such a selfish cunt.' Draco's voice grew louder as his rant went on. Harry recognised the venom in his voice, and tightened his grip in the back of Draco's jacket.  
'I saved your life.' He whispered, sounding as though he was on the verge of tears. Draco's heart skipped again. God, stop sounding so broken, he thought. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.'My father abused me when I was young.' Draco couldn't ignore the small gasp that escaped Harry's – Potter's – lips. The blond laughed without humour. 'He never laid a finger on me. But he didn't need to. It was what he said, more than what he did. It was what he didn't do.' Malfoy swallowed; he could feel the anger spread like wildfire from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 'I got punished for the smallest things. Of course, my father had to love me in front of mother, and in front of guests. He had to love me in front of the world, but behind closed doors he was an evil, manipulative, selfish, spiteful, loathsome, pernicious, poisonous-' Draco's voice rose and rose, in pitch and in volume. Harry's eyebrows knitted together in fright and in worry and in… something Draco could not pin point. He felt himself be spun round, hands gripped firmly onto his shoulders. Harry looked the Slytherin in the eyes; 'Calm down, Draco.' Again, Draco's heart fluttered, his stomach somersaulted. As he looked into those emerald eyes, something inside him snapped. He acted before his brain could keep up. One minute, he was glaring at Harry, and the next minute, he was kissing him, both hands cupped to his cheeks. He heard the small squeak of surprise, and he couldn't help but smile. As he closed his eyes, the tears he'd been so desperate to fight back began to fall. Why did he always cry when he kissed this man? The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it caused both of them to flush furiously. 'Dra-' Harry was cut off by a finger put to his lips, indicating for him to shut up.  
'I'm sorry. I…I'm so sorry.' Draco turned on the spot, Disapparating away from Harry Potter. He'd let his emotions get the better of him; Again. This time, it was him who had run away. And he regretted it as soon as he had turned away, but Harry made him feel weird; made his emotions play up. Would this ever end?  
*  
Days turned into weeks and then April had disappeared, and then May and June, and before they knew it, it was mid-September.  
*  
There was a bang at the window; a snowy white owl was perched on the window sill of 13 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It wasn't uncommon to see owls at this particular window, in broad daylight, waiting on the ledge, a letter or package attached to its leg. It was no different on this day. Hedwig, the famous Harry Potter's owl was his own personal postal service.  
Harry opened his window, letting the bird hop into the room, sticking out her leg for harry to retrieve the small letter tied to it. As he untied it, Hedwig squawked, indicating she wanted her reward. Harry opened her cage, giving her access to her living space; she flew in graciously. Harry opened the letter; it was contained in a heavy envelope, much like the ones he possessed. He turned it over, analysing the seal; wax, crimson in color, embellished with a large M… Malfoy.  
Harry frowned. 'What could Malfoy want? It's been months…' He opened it gently, being careful not to tear the letter itself. He read it through once, twice… he couldn't comprehend it; the words blurred into a mass of ink.  
Potter.  
We need to meet up. You have my wand. I don't think you understood when I said my Mother's doesn't understand me. I want mine back. Meet me in Diagon Alley outside of Madame Malkin's on Friday evening, 6pm sharp. If you're late, I'll hex you into next month.  
Be there.  
D. Malfoy.  
Harry swallowed the golf ball in his throat. He frowned. He read the letter through once more. He looked around. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was ecstatic, he was scared; he was a mess. He desperately wanted to explain himself to Draco, but with the same token, he didn't want to be humiliated, to be rejected. Even the great Harry Potter felt vulnerable at times, even without Lord Voldemort around. And he wanted Malfoy to explain himself, too.  
He stood up, and sat back down. He was at a loss. The day was Wednesday. He had two days. Two days to find the wand, two days to think of something to say. He'd gotten over being stood up months ago. Draco was angry, he got that. But Harry couldn't stay mad, no matter how hard he tried. Yet, however hard he tried to let Draco in, something – an unknown force – would make him shut his heart off, block his feelings out. He was scared; scared that it was a phase, scared that he was being played.  
He'd never done anything like this before, how was he to know? Of course, he'd been with Cho and Ginny, but they were simple. They were women. They're easy. A few gifts, some good sex, and they're dandy. But Draco wasn't a woman. He wasn't easy. He was new. Harry didn't know what he needed. He assumed, because of his own desires, any man's would be similar… he didn't know.  
So he'd go on Friday and act like he didn't care. He'd shut himself off. He'd let go and forget. He had two days to figure it all out.  
*  
Draco was stood outside of Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, waiting. Diagon Alley was free of students; they were all at Hogwarts. The odd witch or wizard that did walk by pulled his or her cloak in tighter, averting their eyes, and walked faster when they caught sight of Draco. Perhaps because he was stood alone, scowling at nothing, or perhaps because he was renowned for his Death Eater father and his own dark days; He was a bad man with a bad past of which everyone knew about.  
It was horrible, having people judge you for things your father had done. He knew teaming with Death Eaters and Voldemort was not a good move, He thought, at the time, it would make him feel powerful and superior, but it just made him feel young and naïve. As time went on, he became more tangled in Voldemort's plans and the light at the end of his incredibly long tunnel had been distinguished. If he didn't obey the orders he was assigned to, his family would've been killed via the Cruciatus curse or the Avada Kedavra killing curse. No matter how bad his father was, the young Malfoy didn't want him dead. He certainly didn't want his mother dead. She was an over protective fool, but he loved her so. She was the closest thing he had to an affectionate relationship.  
On the thought of relationships, Malfoy's eyes became trained on a wizard walking towards him, wrapped up tight in a cloak and scarf, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks rosy from the cold – Potter. Immediately Draco felt his pulse quicken and his legs go weak. Look at him, Draco. Look at his little face and his cute outfit. Isn't he wonderful? Isn't he cute? Go on, he's here; he came. He's not a coward like you. He wanted to see you. You know you want- 'Potter! I trust you have my wand?' Draco cut off the devil on his shoulder, feeling his blood boiling. He needed to stay calm; he had had to keep his guard up, his mask on, and he needed Potter to not say anything.  
Draco stood, arm extended, waiting to receive his wand, ignoring his head, 'Potter, my wand?' he said through gritted teeth. Harry's eyes widened slightly, his grip tightening around Draco's wand.  
'What's the magic word, Malfoy?' he leered.  
Draco smirked. 'Crucio.' The look on Harry's face made a dark flush creep up Draco's neck. The Gryffindor was not deterred by his threat but he was certainly nervous. Every now and then his tongue snaked out to wet his lips, and he kept looking away anxiously. Draco was surprised; he was usually grandiloquent, acting holier-than-thou. But now he look as if he would like nothing more than to be away from here.  
But Draco didn't care; he was mesmerized by that tongue. Draco's face had become a light pink, and he didn't notice. He was totally absorbed; he couldn't help it. He imagined what that tongue could do, wrapped around his- 'Give me my fucking wand, Potter!' he shouted, his voice cracking, his slacks feeling too tight. Harry handed him the wand, his eyes narrowed slightly, but he still possessed his nervous traits – the lick of the lips, the looking around. He shook his head a little, turning quickly, obviously about to leave. Draco lunged forwards, roughly grabbing Harry's arm, stopping him from taking another step away. Pain flashed through both of their faces. 'Harry,' Draco pleaded. His mask had fallen away.  
Harry span around, his face angry, his eyes a mixture of pain and love and hope and doubt and denial. 'What?' he demanded, his eyes swimming, threatening tears. Draco swallowed.  
'Harry…' he repeated, his voice soft and gentle, instead of hard and insulting.  
'Malfoy! Get off!' Harry struggled, trying to break away from the Slytherin.  
'Potter, please! Hear me out!' Draco pleaded, desperate for Harry to stay. Every ounce of pride and dignity had left him. Everything had left him; he needed Harry to stay.  
'You kissed me! Again. And then ran!' Harry shrieked, not caring about the people walking past, staring.  
'I kissed you again. And I stooped to your level, and ran.' the blond nodded. He felt defeated. He had no strength left to fight.  
'Why? Why do you keep doing this, Malfoy? I'm not good enough for you! I'm-' Draco grabbed Harry's other arm, holding him tightly, looking fiercely at him. Harry continued to shout in his face. 'You shouldn't! You-'  
Draco snapped. 'Why shouldn't I? You know, deep down, you wanted it. You've been sending me mixed signals for months! You ask me to meet you, come to my home; you returned the kiss! And then you just ran off! What's wrong with you? I don't care that you're a stuffy Gryffindor! I don't care if you hate me. It won't change how I feel, Harry!' Anger and passion and lust and love and adoration poured out of his soul, leaving him drained. 'I…Harry, I think I…I think I love you.' He barely had enough time to stutter out the sentence before Harry tangled himself with Draco, their lips meeting fervently. It was messy and it was rushed, but it was full of adoration and love and relief.  
*  
Harry stood before Draco, heart pounding, head spinning. He listened to Draco pour his heart out, his decision made. He'd take his chances. He'd wear his heart on his sleeve and try his hardest to let Draco in, to give him what he needed. He needed Draco. He wanted him.  
'I…Harry, I think I…' Harry noticed how the Slytherin's voice faltered; Harry knew what Draco was about to say. He knew what he needed to do. 'I think I love you.'  
Harry grasped the front of Draco's jacket, pulling him in close. Draco reacted almost instantaneously; his body melted into Harry's and their lips moulded together. Harry moved his hands down Draco's chest, causing Draco to shiver lightly. His hands slipped back up Draco's back - causing it to arch closer into Harry - and looped around his neck.  
People were full on staring now. People started talking, a hushed noise that carried confusion and shock. 'What is he doing?'  
'Harry? Draco?'  
'It's despicable! He can do better!'  
People were laughing and snickering; there were even a few cheers. It was turning to chaos.  
Harry pulled away, face beet, breathing laboured. A smile was plastered onto his face, his eyes were glittering; he had made the right choice. He gazed into Draco's eyes, glanced at his grinning lips, and sighed.  
Both Harry and Draco looked at the crowd that had gathered. Homosexuality was perfectly accepted in the Wizarding World; unlike the Muggle world, wizards understood the concept of accepting someone, no matter who they are.  
But this was the Saviour of the Wizarding World; the person who killed Voldemort; the Horcrux that got away. He was a hero. And here he was, publicly cavorting with none other than Draco Malfoy, renowned death eater, infamous because of his father, and for being a down right prick. It was all people could do but stare.  
*  
Draco smirked, lacing his hands with Harry's. Harry's heart skipped a beat, and almost stopped when Draco shouted, with a touch of humour, 'Take a fucking picture! I'm not sure if it would last longer, but I'm sure it'll suffice.' Harry grinned, tugging on Draco's hand, pulling him down Diagon Alley, laughing at the witches and wizards collectively shaking their heads.  
Suddenly, Draco stopped short, once again pulling Harry close to him. With a smile that could break hearts, he pressed his lips to Harry's. This time it was soft and gentle and light. The Slytherin sighed into the kiss, over the moon with relief and joy. Not that he'd let anyone know that. Draco's hands looped around Harry's waist, and an idea came to his mind. He kissed along Harry's jaw bone, stopping at his ear. 'If we're going to give them a show, I think we'd better charge them,' he purred, taking a chance, nipping at Harry's neck. This caused a small mewl to escape the Gryffindor's lips, turning Draco's blood to fire. He pulled back a little to survey Potter. He raked his eyes over his face; his eyes were closed and his lips parted slightly. His breathing was short and shallow; he looks like he's enjoying himself, Draco laughed to himself. He looked to the side momentarily to see that the crowed was still there, albeit not as large, but still there, watching like vultures. Draco grinned, moving his lips back to Harry's ear; 'We've got an audience.'  
Harry opened his eyes a little, looking over at the crowd. He couldn't help but laugh. He knew this was going too fast, but it was hilarious. Ten minutes ago, they were yelling the odds at each other, now they're practically eating each other. He wet his lips and looked at Draco, whose eyes were fixed on Harry's mouth. Harry bit his lip gently, provoking a small moan from the blond. He grinned and lightly kissed Draco again, and again, and again. He slid his hand up Draco arms, causing him to shiver, and wrapped his arms around the blond's neck, holding him close. He was happy here, being gentle and caring. It was a side of Draco Harry had never seen before; he didn't doubt that no one had seen it before. But it was nice.  
Harry felt Draco's hand slide up and down his back, caressingly, felt the same hands slip further down, towards his ass. He felt Draco's lips twist into a smirk at Harry's gasp. He placed his hands on Draco's chest, feeling the muscle, smirking. But his smirk turned to a look of shock when he was lifted into the air. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around Draco's waist before he knew what he was doing. An audible, unanimous gasp could be heard from the thinning crowd behind them, but this was drowned out by both Harry's and Draco's groan. Harry bit his lip, hard, digging his fingers into Malfoy's shoulders. Draco tightened his grip on Harry, his eyelids fluttered shut. It's obvious he needs you, Draco. So what are you waiting for? 'Believe me, I want to. I just-' he thought to himself. He was interrupted by a rather breathless Harry.  
'Please, can we go? This is getting awkward. And, uh, you have really bony hips, and it's starting to hurt.' Harry wriggled a little to emphasize his point, pulling a face in mock distress. Draco just laughed.  
'Okay, Scarhead. You're heavy, anyway. What did you have for breakfast this morning? A fucking Muggle?' he chuckled as he put Harry down, receiving a slap for his witty remarks.  
'Git,' Harry smiled. He really smiled; a smile that showed happiness and is genuine and is full of…realness; not at all faked. Draco reciprocated the act, then rolled his eyes.  
'Look at us. We're already acting like a married couple. It's not decent.' He smirked as Harry's eyes bulged and he flushed at the words 'married couple'. 'C'mon. Let's get the fuck out of here.' He took Harry's hand and the Disapparated.  
*  
It was Christmas day. Everyone was at the Weasley's; There was obviously Ron and Hermione and their 3 month old [4] baby girl, Rose, and there was Ginny and Dean (yes, they're back on), George and Angelina, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Luna and Neville, and, of course, Harry Potter and Draco.  
It had become apparent that as soon as everyone saw Malfoy, a riot was to break out. Everyone knew Harry and Draco were together, but it made no one like the blond any less. Not that he gave two shits. He brought most of it on himself. When the couple arrived, for instance, he was adamant on winding Ron up.  
'My God, you live like a bunch of fucking Muggles! It's…' he looked at Harry, trying his very best to hold his tongue. The slap he'd just received would only be the beginning if he didn't shut up. He couldn't help it! It was disgraceful!  
And then again, an hour later…  
Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco were in the living room, waiting for everyone to arrive. 'Are you really a Pure-Blood, Weasley?' he asked, one brow raised, looking around the room. He looked at Ron with a face full of disgust when Ron replied with an indignant 'yes' through gritted teeth. 'Hn, you would've never guessed.  
At that, Ron leapt off the sofa and dived for Malfoy, arms outstretched, hands reaching for Draco's neck. At the same time, Harry and Hermione leapt up, screeching their partner's names. Hermione looked appalled. Harry just looked dumb-struck. Draco was laughing darkly between choking and spluttering.  
'Harry! Please, take him outside!' Hermione shouted over Ron's cries of 'I'm gonna fucking kill him!' and 'Who does he think he is, coming here and insulting my family?' and 'Harry, why the fuck did you have to fall in love with this bastard?'  
Harry pulled his boyfriend up and out of the door, literally throwing him onto the porch. 'Harry? What the fuck? No need to-' he was cut off, again, by warm lips upon his. This shocked Draco into silence, because he was expecting to be punched or hexed for his behaviour, but he chided himself for allowing a certain black haired man to cut him off. Again. He ran his tongue along Harry's lower lip, almost begging for entrance, but he pulled away, face pink, and heart fluttering.  
He coughed to disguise the laughter the bubbled to his lips, and managed to keep a straight face. 'You need to calm down. And stop insulting Ron and his family. I know you don't like them, but please? Do this for me?'  
Draco blinked, and then sighed heavily. 'Fine.' Harry grinned, grabbed his hand and the walked back into the house. Draco apologized, as did Ron, and they seemed to get on like a house on fire after that, Draco being reassured by Harry's hand on his knee or a quick peck on the cheek – which tended to make him recoil; too cutesy – or the promise of mind blowing sex. The sound of sex perked Draco up, and he was amazingly nice to everyone for the rest of the day.  
*  
The day was over. Technically, it was December 26th when the couple staggered in the door of 13 Privet Drive, drunk on champagne and vodka numerous other alcohols that had been passed around. Arms around each other's waists, they hauled themselves into the bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. Still in their clothes, they clambered under the covers. Draco held Harry close to him, feeling his drunken heart beat on his skin.  
Suddenly, Harry wriggled around, rolling over to face the man he loved. 'You know? I love you, Draco Malfoy.' He grinned. It wouldn't been cutesy and romantic if Harry hadn't been so drunk. Draco placed a quick kiss upon his lover's lips before whispering, 'I love me, too.'  
\--

**Author's Note:**

> [1] – I know Harry doesn't write like this, but this is how he writes in this story. Don't like it? Suck it.  
> [2] – I'm aware Hedwig died. I don't care. It wouldn't be right for Harry to have a different owl. If we can ignore the epilogue, we can ignore the fact that Hedwig died.  
> [3] - Personally I'm not sure if Snape ever had a portrait in the school, and even if he did, I don't want Draco to be able to waltz back in, but I don't want a long winded fight about him trying to get in. For these reasons, Snape has a grave close to the school.  
> [4] – I may have this slightly wrong, but I tried my hardest to figure it all out, but it's too much effort. If you want to, be my guest and leave a comment; I shall edit it.


End file.
